Page 10 of Echoes of Fire

Stop it. He’s not?—

“I did not plan to claim a mate today. I apologize for not making my bed. Sleep where you wish.” Rath finally turned, and god, the full force of him nearly buckled my knees.

Firelight sculpted the planes of his chest, catching on piercings that glinted along the ridges of his scales. A silver ring through one nipple. Another through the soft flesh beneath a clavicle plate. Two more in his ears. Where else was he pierced?

My mouth went dust dry. “The silks are heat-regulated,” he continued, oblivious to my internal combustion. “The bathing pool recirculates through geothermal filters. Do not touch the weapons.”

I forced my gaze to the arsenal lining the far wall—blades with crystalline cores, their edges shimmering with residual energy. “Charming decor.”

“Practical.” He stepped closer, and the air thickened with his scent—ember resin and something muskier. My lungs constricted. “The zealots won’t challenge my claim openly. Not tonight, but this affront won’t go unanswered.”

“How was I supposed to—” I cut myself off, edging along the table, putting its bulk between us. You couldn’t argue with zealots. I supposed that was true on any planet.

The journal’s loss ached like a phantom limb.

“They don’t care about mercy.” Rath’s tail lashed, sending a stool skittering. “They want blood for their burnt god.”

“So you just, what, claimed me? Without even knowing my name?” The words cracked.

“I know your name, Orla Mitchell.” Rath stood motionless by the weapons wall, his silhouette haloed in crystal-light. Moonlight from a sky tunnel shaft cut across his scales, turning them to liquid mercury. I counted seven blades within his reach, each more lethal than the last.

“Right.” My voice was too loud in the hollow space. “So this …claim. It’s a loophole in your laws? Why would claiming me do anything?”

He turned slowly. “Death is the penalty for outsiders who witness the sacred rites. The claim binds your life to mine; as my mate you are … mine. They cannot harm you without challenging me.”

“And if we don’t … click?” Me and relationships hadn’t exactly gone places back on Earth. I couldn’t see how it would work out between me and someone who wasn’t even human.

His nostrils flared, the heat-crystals dimming as if the room itself held its breath. “That is not an option. The zealots are patient hunters.”

A shiver skated down my spine. I stepped toward the table, like it could act as some sort of shield. “You didn’t answer my question. What am I to you now?”

The silence stretched, thick with the creak of leathery wings adjusting.

“A problem,” he said at last.

I barked a laugh. “Charming.”

“One I will solve.” He moved closer, claws still glinting. My pulse stuttered—an autonomic response, I told myself. Nothing more. “You will stay here. Keep out of trouble. When the threat passes …”

“You’ll unclaim me?” My thumb rubbed the DNA helix tattoo on my wrist, the ink gritty with ash. “How convenient.” Was I angry about that? Wasn’t it what I wanted? I was still shaking with residual fear and couldn’t get control of my feelings.

His growl vibrated in my molars. “There is nounclaiming. The bond is … permanent.”

The word buzzed between us like a live wire.

I gripped the table’s edge. “You didn’t think to mention that before tongue-bathing me in front of your entire cult?”

“Would you have preferred the pyre?”

Yes, part of me wanted to snap. The part that still smelled burning journal pages. But the larger part—not the scientist, but the woman—was blisteringly grateful to be saved. And curious.

What did Rath look like under those leathers?

Idid notlook back to the sleeping slab.

Rath stepped closer, each footfall thundering through the volcanic stone. The heat radiating from him intensified, warping the air between us. My traitorous pulse quickened as his shadow engulfed me, the ridges of his scales catching the firelight in fractal patterns that danced across my skin.

“Convenience and survival are often at odds,” he rumbled, his voice lower than the geothermal hum in the walls. His claw traced the table’s edge beside my hand, black talon scoring a hairline fracture in the stone. “You’ll adapt.”

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